


take 2

by Nappinginthegrave



Category: Fargo (TV)
Genre: Incest, M/M, au where gaetano lives, au where theyre not related. in case it's not clear, handjob, i imagine it'd be much harder to write if that weren't the case, i want to say legally it is jan 2nd so i didn't start the year with porn, it's just why did they have the talking about their dicks scene, this is a fic in which i completely ignore the fact that they're related
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:09:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28496604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nappinginthegrave/pseuds/Nappinginthegrave
Summary: I got a big dick, too, yunno.Continuation of s04e10 Happy scene(alternatively titled, the one where i figured out i don't have as much shame as i should)
Relationships: Gaetano Fadda/Josto Fadda
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	take 2

“Hurry up! I gotta piss.”

Josto watches a somberness pull down Gaetano’s face. Hesitance keeps him in place as he looks back. Josto doesn’t remember ever seeing this before. It’s not useful, so he ignores it. Impatient, now, that he’s out of the warm confines of the car. Gaetano turns and walks briskly over the uneven ground.

**BANG!**

“What the fuck.” Josto shrinks onto crouched knees at the sound of the stray bullet. It solidly hits a tree. After the fear subsides only annoyance remains. He stands back up and checks himself. “Great.” Josto says as he dusts off. “You made me get dirt on my coat. C’mon, Gaetano. Be more careful. Just walk slowly.”

Gaetano laughs off the spill, brushing down his chest and pants. “Scusi,” he apologizes. Saying it with more venom and irony than genuine intention. He holsters his gun and snaps the strap over it securely. With an oversized step for dramatic effect, he moves off the dirt and onto the smooth pavement. It’s three more steps until he is directly in front of Josto. He pats his hand down the lapels of Josto’s coat with too firm motions. “Tu no dico me affrettare.”

Josto bristles. It’s not until Josto is securely in the car and Gaetano is walking past the hood that he says, “I’ll tell you to hurry if I want to tell you to hurry.”

Gaetano’s head shifts at the muffled sound. “What? I didn’t hear.”

“Nothing,” he replies clearly. Josto puts the keys in the ignition and starts the engine. “C’mon, it’s a half hour drive, and I still have to go.” His left leg jitters up and down against the carpeted interior.

Gaetano shrugs as he sits down. The door closes with a solid thud and they’re gone.

Tension in Josto’s shoulder unfurls the further they get from the body bleeding out under the streetlights. The night is quiet and still. An otherwise beautiful evening. He’s thinking back on the look Gaetano had after shooting Weff. What it could mean. Opening up about his past might’ve been a bigger step than Josto realized. A killer that no longer kills is worth nothing. There must be a way to tamp down any growing conscience. A tap on the shoulder takes him away from himself.

“Pull over.” The car slows down and turns left into an empty lot. The refraction off the headlights is the only way Gaetano can see his hand in front of his face. “All your talk about pissing,” he grumbles as he opens his door. He rounds the back of the car but stays relatively close.

Josto can hear him unzip even with the window up. His full bladder pushes itself to the front of his mind. Josto crosses his legs a couple times before sighing in exasperation. “Fuck.” This is the worst possible alternative. He rushes to get his fly down as he pushes open the door. Instead of his usual modesty, whipping out his entire dick as his pants drop down a few inches. The relief of emptying his bladder overcomes any sense of shame. He practically moans into the night air as he leans his head back to enjoy.

“It’s not that big.” Gaetano snipes Josto as he passes. It ruins Josto’s good mood immediately.

He stands there slack-jawed and without an inkling of witticism. Before he’s even pulled his slacks up, Gaetano’s waiting in the car. The passenger window’s now rolled down and Gaetano smacks the side of steel. The deep thunks against dead air make Josto’s spine straighten like an arrow. He tucks himself away almost certain he spilled on his shoes. A millisecond passes where he thinks about walking home alone in the dark, but that doesn’t make sense. He gets back in the car.

His hand fidgets on the keychain, eyes glued to the dashboard. Heat builds in his cheeks and somewhere under his ribs like a funny kind of heartburn. “It’s bigger when I’m hard.” STUPID. He regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth. He wishes that bullet hadn’t missed and he was dead on the ground in front of Weff’s apartment.

Gaetano is laughing at him. Maybe not _at him_ , but he’s laughing. Deep and joyful, like it’s the best joke he’s heard all day. “Show me.”

“ **No.** ” Josto makes the word short but sharp. Putting in as much offense as he can.

“Okay, pussy. Start the car.”

He seethes and pinches his lips together. “I’m not-“ Josto gestures in a way that’s both loud and meaningless. “You can’t-” Embarrassment mixes with anger and rushes over him in ways that warm him too well. “It’s just because it’s cold out.” He turns the key forward and the car roars to life. A second later he turns the car off.

Gaetano faces him with a smile that looks malicious.

“I’m just doing this to prove a point.” Josto chooses to ignore that he’s already half hard as he unzips and pulls himself out, scooching forward in his seat to angle back slightly. He also ignores how quick it is to get a full erection. It’s unusual for him to have an audience, is all. Every ounce of strength is needed for him to not finish. He holds himself for a second more before letting it stand free against his stomach. “See?” He pants out.

“Hm,” Gaetano makes an approving sound, nodding once. When he looks to Josto he doesn’t get any eye contact. The other man too occupied with fogging up the window, the side of his face pressed into the cool glass as a desperately needed distraction.

Josto whimpers but doesn’t move when Gaetano takes hold of him. If he did look, then he’d know that he fits perfectly in Gaetano’s hand. Instead, he only feels it. Calloused by a small margin that is unexpected and all the more enticing. The touch is clinical yet explorative. Josto’s mashing his forehead into the cold window, now. Its already pale color turning white under the pressure. He doesn’t want this, but he badly wants and needs this. A broken exhale escapes him as he grips the ash tray in the door.

“It is big.” Gaetano squeezes gently and taps it to Josto’s belly. His hand moves up, so he can rub his thumb at the ridge under the tip. He keeps a steady pressure and pumps until clear liquid begins dripping out. He swipes through it before pulling his hand away.

Josto can’t hide his disappointment. He peeks back cautiously as if watching a horror scene. “What’s happening?” His voice shakes slightly. He’s watching Gaetano watching him. There’s nothing more important in the world than appeasing Gaetano, but he has no idea where to start. He watches the other man lick his hand clean. A bolt of arousal hits straight down his spine and makes his cock twitch. “Uh,” he murmurs dumbly.

Satisfaction of the cat who’s eaten the canary. Gaetano brings his hand down, again. This time with a rapt and captive audience. “You like this?” When Josto neglects to answer, he makes his fist tight and jerks him off rough enough to border into painful.

“Yes,” Josto can’t find his breath. He nods furiously and Gaetano stops. “Your hand makes it look smaller.” He doesn’t know why he said that out loud. Wherever his filter was, he needed it back. He doesn’t know why he’s done any of this. Gaetano raises his hand and Josto’s poised to start begging, but instead he gets to see Gaetano lick a thick line of spit across his palm before returning it to Josto’s cock.

When Gaetano starts stroking, Josto makes a sound like he’s been punched in the gut. It’s hot and wet and perfect as it surrounds him. He’s forced to hold onto the larger man’s thigh to support himself. His hips are jumping all on their own, and it’s not two minutes until he’s coming over his trousers. Gaetano keeps going until Josto’s spent, a mess spilled over his knuckles. He looks quite pleased as he lets go. Whatever plans running through his mind going smoothly. He tastes at the back of his hand for a second before wiping it all back on Josto.

Nowhere near recovered from his climax, Josto’s caught off guard as Gaetano pulls him in by the lapels for a kiss. Limp as a fish for the first second before his instinct has him moving against Gaetano’s mouth. It’s a new experience to kiss someone with a moustache. Gaetano cradles the back of Josto’s head. His lips are full and soft and moving with a slow intention that makes Josto hurt. Inciting a craving for something he can’t describe. He follows Gaetano’s retreat and is only stopped when pushed away.

“Dovremmo partire alla casa.” Gaetano wipes across his mouth with his thumb.

Josto shifts the hand on Gaetano’s thigh a few inches, and he can feel his hard-on. “But-”

Gaetano uses a bruising strength on Josto’s wrist to direct it to the steering wheel. “The house,” he repeats. Slowly, as saying anything twice is something he’s loathe to do. Exceptions will unfortunately always exist, but he could certainly live with this one.

This is the best instance of the night where Josto finds himself speechless. In complete silence, he tucks his limp dick back in his pants and frowns at the new stains that he dreads going to the dry cleaners for. Thankfully, his winter coat covers him completely once buttoned closed. He might be sweaty, but he’s discrete.

Josto is the first out of the car once they’re home. He flies up the porch steps and nearly stampedes over Antoon.

“Hey boss, good trip?”

Josto takes the stairs two steps at a time into his bedroom, completely ignoring any pleasantries. Making certain to close his door without slamming it and triple checking the lock. He opens his coat and hangs it on the rack. The full-length mirror in the corner calls to him. He swipes his fingers over the dried come on his lap and shivers as he remembers every detail. Before he can think, he’s pushing down his pants and jerking off. Quick and dirty. Leant against the cool surface and relying heavily on the soreness of his wrist where Gaetano grabbed him. He doesn’t stop until he’s left stripes across the mirror’s glass front.

His legs give out in small stages until he’s on the floor. Sated and waiting for exhaustion to take him. It’s spoiled when he starts to recognize how he should feel regret, even if he doesn’t. In a slow and sleepy fashion, he undresses and uses his shirt to clean up after himself as best he can. There’s a water basin on the table that he scrubs his clothes with. A quiet and intense fury as he almost rips through his pants with how forcefully he folds then rubs the fabric against itself. When he’s done, he wrings it all out half-heartedly and hangs them across the back of a chair. A problem for future him to deal with.

It’s all he can manage to crawl onto his bed. Sleep finds him faster than any worries.

The next morning at breakfast Josto remains alert. Uncomfortable that he’s been unable to suss out whatever game Gaetano’s playing at. But nothing’s changed. Any extended looks Josto expects are only held within his mind’s eye. Well, no change might not be true. Josto finds himself extraordinarily motivated to spend more time with Gaetano.

**Author's Note:**

> (take 2, because this is the second time josto's been jerked off in his car. what a lucky guy.) also i'm sorry i don't speak italian, but i did try my best with it


End file.
